


the secrets hidden within these walls

by mendystar1



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Sherlock AU, dark!john, james moriarty being a title, or james being the only name that every member of the family has because of canon reasons, sherlock holmes being a title, succession
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-16
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-02-25 14:05:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2624525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mendystar1/pseuds/mendystar1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two families, two names passed down through the generations. No one knows when the tradition started but the title of ‘Sherlock Holmes’ is given to the person who solves the most cases and ‘James Moriarty’ is given to the ones who commit the most crimes. As the years passed, the tradition turned into a folktale, told throughout the generations. It was only when a century passed that the citizens of London became trapped behind an invisible barrier that didn't allow anyone in or out. The two families fought against one another, creating chaos until the identities of the two families were stowed away in secret so neither side could pursue the other until the game of wits began once more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The beginning of a new age

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this line: "Sherlock is the good guy who doesn’t have a heart, and it’s his biggest weakness.  Jim is the bad guy who does have a heart, and it’s his greatest tragedy." - @ilovemyskull:
> 
> I had this story with me for about 1-2 years and I didn't have any time to write it out until now. Thanks to my sister for reading my fic for the first time and for [helpmychainsawbitme](http://helpmychainsawbitme.tumblr.com/) on tumblr for encouraging me to write some of the Sherlock fics I had hidden in my laptop files.

After Clara's death, John went to see Harry at her flat. When he stepped inside, he saw Harry sitting on the sofa, holding 3 bottles of beer, empty ones scattered around her as she stared at wedding photo sitting on an uncluttered desk. As if it was the one place that was untouched from Harry’s depression. "Harry," John whispered, not wanting to frighten his sister. Harry looked up as John placed his handgun tucked in the back of his trousers on the kitchen counter, a rule that Clara had enforced whenever he visited. John smiled sadly at the memory, Clara's voice echoing in his mind.

_‘I will not tolerate guns in my house John! I will not have you siblings shoot each other in the face whenever you meet!’_

"John." Harry muttered, snapping John out of the memory. John looked at his sister who continued to drink. John moved to sit next to her. His hands slowly reached out to grab her hands, wanting her to look at him, to look him in the eyes when he spoke the words.

"Harry." John started and paused, not really knowing what to say. Taking a breath, he started again, stuttering. "I-I'm sorry about what happened to Cla-"

Harry stood up, dropping all the bottles in her lap and looked at John with angry eyes. "HOW DARE YOU.” She spat out. "HOW DARE YOU." She repeated, drunkenly running to the kitchen counter where John’s handgun was placed. John's eyes widen when he realized what his sister was running towards but froze in shock from his sister's sudden anger. “HOW DARE YOU SAY HER NAME LIKE THAT WHEN IT WAS YOU," Harry turns, pointing the gun at him, tears spilling from her eyes. "YOU! THE ONE WHO TOOK HER AWAY FROM ME. 

YOU- YOU MURDERER!” 

_BANG_

♜♞♝♛♚♟♟ -- ♙♙♕♔♗♘♖

It’s been years since John had last seen his sister Harry. After their fight, John joined the army, running away from the memories of the past and taking along with him his talent of impeccable aim. It was the only thing he was good at and it was the only way he found to atone for his sins. It was during those years in the army that John re-learned his love of healing. He was known as Captain John Watson, an army doctor that commandeered and protected his troops with unwavering dedication.

And then he got shot.

When his vision turned black and the sound of gunfire faded into nothing, he thought to himself.

‘ _This is it. I can finally pay for my sins.’_

He closed his eyes and John Watson drew his last breath with a smile on his face. But a thought, hidden under layers and layers of self-loathing flashed in his mind right before he fell unconscious.

‘ _Please god.’_

_‘I don’t want to die.’_

He woke up surrounded by beeping machines, a scar on his left shoulder, diagnosed with PTSD, an intermittent tremor in his dominant hand, a psychosomatic leg, several metals that spoke greatly of his service and a trip back home.

He was alive.

He could no longer be a surgeon. 

He could no longer enter the battlefield.

He could no longer die in the hot desert sun and slowly rot like he deserved to be.

Who knew that he will soon find himself in a battlefield that will help him atone for all that he has done.

♜♞♝♛♚♟♟ -- ♙♙♕♔♗♘♖

When John was discharged from the hospital, an army pilot met him outside. After giving a brief salute, the pilot walked alongside John, who now depended on a cane.

“‘Ello Captain. Where would you like to go?”

“I get to choose?” John asked, curious. 

“Well, your file states that you have no living relatives and due to the wonderful service that you have done for the Queen and Country, the army will gladly grant any location of your choice for your living quarters.”

“Ah.” John replied. He forgot that he didn’t place Harry’s name onto his papers when he first joined. It was for the best, to Harry, John was dead to her. “How about London?” John suggested. He hasn’t been to London in quite a while.

“London?” The pilot asked, his eyes widened in shock. “You live in London?” 

“Lived there a bit when I went to school and got my degree in Medicine there.”

“Well, I’ll request for a place for you there but you know how these things go.”

“Yeah.” John nodded. The government tended to overcomplicate things.

“If it doesn’t work out, we can always find you somewhere else.”

“Nah. I rather have London. If you can’t find me a place, I can find my own.” John said, not really knowing why he was so adamant to London. He just felt this need to go.

♜♞♝♛♚♟♟ -- ♙♙♕♔♗♘♖

“Well I’ll be.” The pilot said, surprised.

“What?” John asked.

“They’re letting you live in London.” The pilot answered, gesturing to the note in his hand.

“Okay.” John said, and took the note in his hands when the pilot handed it over. It was from the British government stating that they were granting access for him to enter the city's borders. John's eyebrow went up in surprise. “Is it really this surprising?”

“Ah. It’s just - there’s rumors about London. They never let outsiders into their city before.”

“Really?” John asked, and then recalled his memory of back when he was in London. The government was tight on security back then, constantly asking him questions about his parents, his background and other things like that. “What a controlling government.”

“No kidding. No one can get in or leave. It’s quite the mystery.” The pilot stated and then looked at John. “I’m surprised they somehow let you leave.”

John smirked. “I can be pretty persuasive.”

“Hmm.” The pilot looked at John. “Well, let’s not waste any daylight chatting here like gossiping housewives. Let’s get you to London.” The pilot walked towards the light aircraft on the airstrip.

John looked to the horizon, muttering, “A mystery huh?” before limping his way to the pilot.

♜♞♝♛♚♟♟ -- ♙♙♕♔♗♘♖

It was a strange flight. The aircraft flew over the ocean and dropped John right at the edge of London’s borders marked by yellow streaks of paint on nearby traffic barriers. There were also numerous CCTV cameras scattered around the area.

The pilot powered down the plane, took off his helmet and turned around to look at John. “This is the furthest I can go.”

John looked outside. There was a group of men dressed up in suits and sunglasses waiting behind the stone barriers.

“You weren’t kidding when you said no one gets in or out of this place.”

The pilot laughed. “Yeah. Well, all you got to do is walk beyond those stones and you’ll have another car to drive you to the military housing unit.”

John nodded. “Thanks soldier.” John saluted.

The pilot saluted back, grinning. “Goodbye Cap.”[  
](http://helpmychainsawbitme.tumblr.com/)

John stepped out of the plane with difficultly due to his leg and when he finally got out, he limped his way past the stone barriers. The man closest to John spoke in his ear piece and gestured him to the black limo parked behind them. John gave out a slight nod before slipping into the back seat. The man closed the door behind John and the driver drove without order. John settled into his seat and looked out at the city he last seen a long time ago.

♜♞♝♛♚♟♟ -- ♙♙♕♔♗♘♖

“So this will be your living quarters,” said the landlord of the military housing unit. His arms gesturing to the empty white box that held a bed, a bedside table, a small cupboard, a chair and a small desk. “The kitchen is on the second floor and beside the cafeteria. A gym is set on the third floor and the rooms for therapy sessions are on the fourth. Your first session is set later this evening, I can’t remember the time, you could check with the secretary later when you’re done settling in.” The man turned to him. “Any questions?”

“None sir.”

“Very good. If you need anything, I live on the fifth floor, room 501.”

The landlord left, leaving John standing with his duffle bag of belongings sitting beside him on the carpet floor. John stared outside the window that showed a fantastic view of the city. “At least there’s one good thing about this place.” John muttered, pushing his duffle bag to the side of the wall with his foot and dropped down onto the hard mattress. Bringing his foot onto the bed with the help of his hands, he laid down and stared at the ceiling. Was this going to be his life? Living in a place the military gave him. Going to therapy sessions he was bound to hate. Stuck without purpose or way to redeem himself from his past.

The questions twirled and twisted in his mind until John Watson drifted into a restless sleep.

 


	2. the first meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Watson meets Mike Stamford, an old friend of his from Barts and has his first meeting with the famous Sherlock Holmes and a mysterious stranger that cares very much for his younger brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So terribly sorry how long it has been since I've updated anything. School and all that jazz. Hope you like it.  
> Though it's going to be a next chapter that I will reveal this fairy tale of sorts.

John woke up with a gasp, his mind still ringing from the screams as gunshots ripped through him like it had happened only seconds before instead of a lifetime ago.

He sighed, bringing the hand that was tightly clutched to the thin cloth of his shirt above his heart upward to wipe the sweat produced over the night on his face. He flexed his other hand and looked down in surprise to find it wrapped around a mug that had sat on the bedside table. It was the closest available weapon his body had found during his sleep since he had locked away the revolver in his desk drawer, which was located near his feet, when he had moved the few possessions he had from his small bag of luggage into its respectable places within the small confined space. Releasing his grip on the mug, he mentally catalogued himself for injuries, a routine he gained over time to make sure he didn’t get himself shot after a fight.

Noting that his shoulder was slightly in pain from sleeping on it for most of the night, he rolled it back repeatedly to manage it. His knee wasn’t tingling or presenting any pain so he found that as a plus. He grabbed the cane that he had left hanging on the corner of the bedpost and used it to slowly bring himself up to a standing position. He stretched, getting the kinks out and effectively waking himself from sleep. After his minute of morning exercises, he began to make his bed.

Another thing he gained from the military.

Grabbing the mug that he had placed by his pillow during his short morning exercise, and after some odd shifting with his hands trying to hold both the cane and the mug at the same time, he managed to put the mug on the desk rather than its spot on the bedside table. He didn’t want to wake up one day and find his hand sliced open just because his nightmares made him shatter a mug in his sleep.

Sitting down on the chair located in front of the desk, John pondered what to do. Should he head to the gym? No. People watching him as he struggled with his leg and cane would be too much. Even if they were all recovering from their time spent in military service, he knew that after just one therapy session the truth about his leg would spread around like hellfire.

They didn’t have better to do than gossip after all.

John didn’t like the idea of people seeing him limping around the place with the knowledge that it wasn’t due to an injury but because of some psychological trauma. It made him seem weak and that wasn’t him. He wasn’t weak.

He’s just lost.

Shaking his head to get rid of the horrid thoughts about his leg, he began thinking about whether or not the cafeteria would lend him a kettle for tea when there was a quick knock on the door.

“Watson? Are you in?”

John hastily got up, his leg groaned in pain as he tried to open the door as quick as he could. It was landlord.

“Yes sir?”

“Ah. There you are. Been trying to locate you. You missed your therapy session last night-”

“Oh.” John said out loud in attempt to cut the man short as dread filled him at the very thought of therapy. “I fell asleep. I’m sorry for all the trouble.”

“No. Not at all. Ella, that’s the therapist, she wanted me to let you know.”

“Ah. Should I go see her now?”

“Yeah, just head down to her office and see if she’s free. She was with someone when I saw her about an hour ago. Do you remember where her office is?”

“The fourth floor if I remember correctly.”

“Perfect. Good day Watson.”

“Thank you sir.”

With a casual salute the landlord left and John stood at his doorway with a grim look on his face. Therapy.

John looked down at the slight tremble in his hands before gripping tight on the handle of his cane.

“Better get this over with.”

♜♞♝♛♚♟♟ — ♙♙♕♔♗♘♖

Therapy was exactly what John had thought it would be. Depressing and unhelpful since John had already known what was wrong with him. It doesn’t take a person with a degree in psychology to know that. It’s been a few weeks and each therapy session is making him more and more depressed.

John sighed taking a sip of the horrible coffee in his hand as he watched people passing by. After being told that he had ‘trust issues’ and that if he didn’t trust her with the events that happened during the war, he should try to tell his story through a private blog. Which made no sense whatsoever in John’s mind, but he reluctantly made a website since he knew Ella would check. Setting up a domain name took him an hour as he went through a set of instructions he had found when he searched it up on Google. After making the blog, setting up a name and choosing a color that didn’t reflect his current mood, he spent another hour staring at the blinking cursor that seemed to mock him at his now boring life.

John took another sip of his horrible coffee promising to himself to never get another from the military house before his thoughts went to what Ella had said at their last session.

‘John, you’re a soldier. It’s going to take you a while to adjust to civilian life. And writing a blog about everything that happens to you will honestly help you.’

John scoffed at the Ella lecturing him in his head.

“Nothing happens to me.”

“John?”

John snaps back to reality at the sound of his name being called. Turning his head in the direction of the person that called out, he sees Mike Stamford, a man he had known during his years in uni.

“John Watson!”

“Yes?”

“Stamford. Mike Stamford. We were at Bart’s together.”

“Yes. Sorry. I remember. Hello.” John replied, flustered and a bit embarrassed. The only person he had spoken to since he had gotten back was the landlord and Ella.

“I heard you were abroad somewhere, getting shot at. What happened?”

John gripped the cane by his side. John was a little grateful that Mike hadn’t noticed the cane that sat by his side like a ball on a chain tying him down, but it was still awkward to say it out loud.

“I got shot.”

“Oh.” Mike replied, looking down at the cane that John had in a death grip before looking back up to John’s face. “Hey. You want to get another coffee? I saw your face before I called you and by the looks of it, it tasted awful." At the sight of John's uncertainty, Mike added. "Come on, I know a good place just around the corner.”

John looked down at the paper cup and to Mike’s expectant face. ‘Well, this is something interesting that doesn't involve me staring blankly at the walls of my room. Maybe I could even put in that stupid blog.’ John thought to himself as he pushed himself up from the bench. “Lead the way.”

♜♞♝♛♚♟♟ — ♙♙♕♔♗♘♖

“So what have you been doing lately?”

“Teaching at Bart’s if you’ll believe it. Bright little things, like we used to be. God, I hate them!” Mike answered with a laugh. “So what about you? Are you just staying in town before getting sorted?”

“I’m thinking of staying in London, but there’s no way I can afford a flat on an Army pension.”

“Get a flat share or something.”

“Come on - Who would want me as a roommate?”

They both looked at each other, laughing a bit as they fondly remembered the trouble they got into it as roommates at Bart's.

“Fine. Call the government.”

John turned to look at his former classmate and best friend.

“Mike. I’m not going to play on the idea that I’ve served queen and country to get myself a cheaper flat.”

“What?” Mike looked at John in surprise. “No! That’s not what I meant. Remember back then when we first met? When I told you London has always been a bit, uh, paranoid?”

“Yeah. I kind of remember you sayin’ that. Yeah. So?”

“Well, the government is getting much more stricter now. No one’s allowed in or out of London.”

“You mean I can’t leave?”

“Uh. No. Thought he government is granting money to certain people since everyone started complaining about it.”

“So you want me to call the government to say what? Hello, I want to get a flat but I can’t afford it after proudly serving your army? And I can’t get a flat share because I’m a terrible person to be around? Do I somehow fit in your crazy categories of special people that get free money? No thanks.”

“Hey. Don’t say that. Even if you’re a prat sometimes." Mike said with a grin, teasing. After a moment, he continued, "Well if you want, I know someone who could definitely get you the grant.”

“Someone in the government? Did Mikey finally grow up and get to know the big boys?"

“Shut up Watson. I'll have you know having a wife and two kids would attest to just how grown up I am. And I know someone who got high connections to the government. I can introduce you two and you can get this flat business sorted out.” Mike looked down at his watch, grinning. “Actually, this is perfect. He should be in the morgue right now.”

“The morgue?”

“Don’t ask Watson. You’ll see what I mean.”

"The very idea that your ‘friend’ would be at the morgue so often that he has an appointment that you had somehow memorized. Oh god. He's not some creep that likes dead bodies is he?"

"Johnny boy. You got to fix that head of yours."

"I seem to recall that your mind was much worse than mine."

"Well times change with enough dead bodies on the slab."

"Indeed... Indeed they do."

♜♞♝♛♚♟♟ — ♙♙♕♔♗♘♖

John looked around at the various equipment laid about. “Well, bit different from my day.”

Mike chuckled. “You have no idea!”

“Mike, can I borrow your phone? There’s no signal on mine.”

John looked across the room to see a man with curly black hair crouched over a microscope.

“And what’s wrong with the landline?” Mike asked.

“I prefer to text.”

“Sure.” Mike replied, digging into his coat pockets. “Oh. I was wondering if you could call that brother of yours.”

“Whatever for?”

“John here is having a bit of a problem getting a flat. I thought your brother could sort it out for him since we’re all kind of stuck here and all.” Mike continued, digging his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

“Hmmm.” The man hummed, the corner of his eyes cataloguing John’s stance, never taking his eyes away from the microscope. “The phone Mike?” He reminded.

“Ah yes.” Mike looked down at his empty hands. “I must have left it in the other coat in the lecture hall.”

John digs his hand into his back pocket where his sister’s old phone sat. “Er- you can use mine.”

Sherlock looks up. “Oh. Thank you.” Looking back at his microscope, the man asks, “Afghanistan or Iraq?”

“Excuse me?”

“Where you served. Afghanistan or Iraq?”

“Afghanistan. How did yo-”

“Please. I know everything.” The man dismissed. “And do try to stop your thinking, it’s much too loud.”

“You w- my thoughts are-? What are you? Some kind of psychic?” John questioned.

The stranger looked away from the microscope and turned to stare at John.

"You don't know who I am?" The stranger asked, a small hint of shock in his tone. His expression was clear of any indication any surprise he was feeling.

"Am I supposed to?" John asked, and then as a joke, continued, "What, are you part of the royal family or something?"

"Don't be daft." The man answered, waving his free hand as if he could wave the assumption away. "That's my brother." John looked at him with surprise.

"Wh-"

"So you really don't know who I am?" the stranger repeated, moving closer to John. His eyes cataloguing John from head to toe.

John stared back at the man as his body screamed to spring into action, a reaction from the close priority to a stranger that was ringing bells, but he held his gaze firm, his voice challenging as he spoke. ”No. I don't."

"Interesting..." The man said, his hands clamped together in front of his face before dropping them and walking to the door. "Follow me."

"Why?"

The stranger just smiled and left. John stared at the door in disbelief.

“Yeah. He’s like that.” John snapped out of the shock and looked over at Mike who had spoken.

"Who was that?"

"That was Sherlock Holmes.” Mike answered like it explained everything. John just looked at him in confusion.

“Am I supposed to know who that is?“

Mike looked at John, puzzlement in his face. “You really don’t know?” Mike asked before snapping his fingers. “Oh yeah, I keep forgetting that you weren’t from around here. Silly me.”

“Thanks. Is this related to all this tight government stuff again?”

Mike stared at him for a few moments before grinning. “I’m sure Sherlock will gladly tell you the bizarre old legends of our city.”

John looked at the closed door that the stranger just exited from. “And what makes you think that I would follow him like some daft idiot.”

Mike grinned. “Because there’s really nothing better to do.”

"Huh." John continued to stare at the door, his mind reeling of thoughts of who this man could possibly be. His body rushed into motion and he ran out the door.

♜♞♝♛♚♟♟ — ♙♙♕♔♗♘♖

Of course when John had exited the hospital, he found himself alone on the sidewalk and the stranger in the flowing dramatic coat nowhere to be seen. Typical. And since the universe hated him so much as he was standing there trying to decide whether to go left or right, a black sedan slowed down in front of him with its rear doors opening and the three men that came out of the car rapidly pushed John into the car before he could get his bearings. Face first into the cushioned seat, he kicked out at one of his kidnappers and used his hands to support himself as he twisted around to knock another one in the jaw. As those two were slightly occupied, the third man was trying to close the door of the car and essentially lock John inside. John pushed himself across the seat and gave a hard kick to the car door that was about to close. The door slammed into the man and before the door could be rebounded, John used his foot once more to keep it propped open. The man he kicked was already up for another round and John anticipating this had already brought his fist back to punch him as he stood up on the sidewalk. He grabbed his fallen cane on the ground and held it up like a staff. Glancing around at the scene before him, one man out via the door; the other that’s down from the punch but would soon get up and the last who was watching him to see where his weakness was.

“Who are you?” John demanded in the tone that he used in the military to yell out orders to his team.

“Our employer only wishes to speak to you.”

“And this is the way he greets people?” John spat out as the man took a step forward. John quickly punched him in the ribs before sweeping his legs. The man fell, his head hitting the back end of the sedan. “He’s clearly a bad host.” John muttered at the unconscious man as he stood up from the crouched position.

“Very good Dr. Watson.”

John turned around to find a woman standing in between the two other kidnappers.

“That was truly a wonderful sight. Now, if you please, step into the car so we can take you to our employer.”

“And who would this person be?” John asked. The woman looked at the two men giving a slight nod before turning to the blackberry held in her hand and quickly typing on the tiny keyboard. The two men who had been dismissed by her had stepped away and got into the front seats of the car. Still typing and staring at the screen of her phone, she got into the car expertly without pause. John stood on the sidewalk wondering to himself if he could just make a run for it.

“Dr. Watson. My employer only wishes to speak to you this once. He will cease to send people to you if you agree to this one meeting.”

“Very well.” John relented, stepping into the black van and quickly sat in the back seat. He tucked his cane between his leg and the door of the vehicle for better access in case he needed a weapon. The woman paused in her typing to smirk a bit at the gesture before promptly bringing back her stoic face and placed her attention back to her mobile phone.

John looked out the window as the car’s engine roared to life. As the car began moving, the trees and buildings of London began to blur together. John turned back to the woman who was still typing on her phone.

“I believe you have the advantage here. Do I get to know the name of your employer since he clearly knows who I am?”

“No.”

“Then do I get to know your name?”

“Anthea.”

“… That’s not your name is it?”

“It is today.”

“I hope that name wasn’t for my sake.”

“Don’t think too highly of yourself Dr. Watson.”

She turns, smiling briefly before typing once again on her blackberry.

“I don’t suppose I get to know where I’m going?” John asks, Anthea’s fingers falter a bit before she continues to type once more.

“No.”

“Figures. Then perhaps after this so called meeting that your employer deemed important, the car could take me around for sightseeing? I haven’t been in the city for a few years and I’m afraid that I haven’t seen much of it the last time I came.”

Anthea gave John a tiny nod. “I have sent the request and my employer states he will gladly provide the tour of this grand city once the meeting has adjourned and deemed successful.”

“And what does your so-called employer deem ‘successful’?”

Anthea stops typing and looks at John.

“We’ll find out, won’t we?”

♜♞♝♛♚♟♟ — ♙♙♕♔♗♘♖

“Dr. John Watson. Captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Became a doctor in your mid 20s, finishing up the your bachelor degree earlier than some of your classmates. Your financial situation had you swimming loans, for your education, house mortgage and the medical costs from your parents’ car accident that happened in your 4th year of medical school. You almost dropped out but you didn’t. You got a part-time job at both Broomfield Hospital Chelmsford and the University College Hospital London, but the salary you gained at both of these jobs wouldn’t have been enough to cover everything. Especially with your father and your younger sister’s horse gambling problem. After a year, you completed your medical degree, and you quit both of your jobs at the hospital with all your family’s debts miraculously paid off. You dropped off the grid for three years until you joined the army where you served three years until you were shot in the shoulder.” The man listed. “I’m surprised that you did not join the army sooner so they could pay for your school tuition. Maybe it was poor planning on your part. And now you’re back here in London after being shot in the shoulder on the battlefield.”

John glared at the man, his cane held stiffly by his side. “You didn’t exactly bring me in this abandoned warehouse just to show off. What do you want?”

 “Same thing I’ve always wanted. To keep my brother safe.”

“Your brother?”

“William.”

John narrowed his eyes, his mind drawing a blank at the name.

“Who?”

The man shifted his umbrella to his other hand. “You might know him as Sherlock Holmes.”

“Your brother is Sherlock?” John questioned, his eyes taking in for the first time the man before him. The man stood in the same manner as Sherlock, with the kind of posture associated with rich boys that lived in grand houses and went to boarding school. He also had the air of nobility, a different kind of air from Sherlock but something similar. They also had the same piercing eyes that seemed to see into the very depths of a person’s most inner secrets. “Your brother said you were royalty.” John said, hoping that the topic of his brother would shift the intense attention the man’s eyes carried from himself.

“My brother tends to be overdramatic.” The man answered, his eyes flashing as he catalogued John’s body language. “He is quite the handful, isn’t he?”

“I guess.” John answered, shifting one foot’s weight to the other. Standing up for too long was causing pain to his leg. “I only met Sherlock earlier today... for only five minutes....” John said, surprised that so much has happened in one day. The shock from that meeting had yet to settle and his first impression of the man only screamed, ‘Wow.’ John mentally shook the thoughts from his mind, noticing that the stranger with the umbrella was watching him with sharp eyes. John continued, “So really, what am I here for?”

“You are an anomaly.”

“I’m a - what?”

“An anomaly Dr. Watson. If you’re unsure of the definition, let me educate you. You are a being that deviates from the standard, the expected, and something that shouldn’t exist.” The umbrella man explained. “This puts quite a damper in this grand scheme of mine.”

“Well I’m sorry that my being here is inconveniencing you.” John replied sarcastically.

The man stared at John once more, clearly exasperated at John’s attitude. “If you truly do feel sorry, though I can see that you are not, you could perhaps do something for me.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Danger follows my brother at every turn. I only wish for him to have someone to ensure his safety as well as providing me updates on his wellbeing.”

“You want me to spy for you? Couldn’t you just hire one of your lankeys to, I don’t know, follow him around?”

“My brother is a stubborn individual. He will not accept help when given due to his pride and he constantly finds ways to rid of the men I have tailing him. I only worry for his safety. As an older brother, I’m sure you understand this sense of protection.”

John’s anger surged at the hint of Harry. “And what if I refuse to even meet up with him?”

“I don’t think you will Dr. Watson.” The man stepped forward. John tensed and his hand reached for the gun that was no longer there. The man’s eyes tracked the movement but continued to step forward. “For you see, you crave something. Like an addict with your trembling hands that have caused you to unable to find a job as a surgeon.” The stranger pointedly gestures to John’s hand, lifting it up a bit. John flinches at the unwelcome contact but forces himself to not instinctively knock the man into the ground. John stares at the man’s face, showing no emotion as he tears his hands away.

“Don’t.”

The man’s face showed no signs of change at John’s demand and merely continued with a tone as if he was a parent teaching his child that the sky was blue. With patience and an even tone.

“You have an intermittent tremor in your left hand.”

“So?”

“Your therapist thinks it’s post-traumatic disorder, that you’re haunted by your memories of the war.”

“How did yo- That was private!” John yelled out, a flash of anger firing within him. He knew therapy was a bad idea.

“Do fire her.” The man said, stepping a few paces away from John. “She got it wrong. You’re not haunted by the war; it’s the other way around. You’re under stress right now and your hand is perfectly steady.”

John’s eyes flicker down at his hand, and again what the man had said was correct. The stranger continued.

“You crave the life of danger, of being in a place where death could easily venture. You crave the very battlefield that you left behind and when Sherlock invites you…” The man’s eye narrows.”...given from the text he sent to your phone, you will follow.”

John quickly pulled out his phone, his eyes widening a little in shock as he confirmed that an unknown number had texted him, telling him to meet at 221B Baker Street. John placed his phone back into his pocket, his eyes narrowing as his fingers slowly dug into his palms from each accusation of truth being thrown in his face. He took a deep breath, letting the anger flow out of him and yet still bubbling underneath. “And why are you so sure I would do that?”

“Because when you walk with Sherlock Holmes, you see the battlefield in every café, street corner and alley way. He always had a need for dramatics.” The man paused, slightly rocking the umbrella held in his hand. “But you Dr. Watson. You are different. Wherever you go, Death follows and wherever Sherlock goes, Death leads. You are two important pieces in this elaborate chess game. I only have to find out which piece you are.”

“And what piece are you?”

“Me? I am not a piece. I am the one who overlooks, the one who moves the pawns to make way for the king to ascend and conquer.”

“You’re too invested to be the passive onlooker.”

“If you do say so Dr. Watson.” The man twirls his umbrella. “And do tell me where to send the check.”

“I don’t want your money.”

“Very well.” The man nods, his stance a bit more relaxed. “I do find it strange though.”

“What? Powerful man like you unable to find something about me?”

“Your therapist. She assumed ‘trust issues’ after your first session with her and continued with that thought throughout your sessions as you continued to see her. She failed to see that these trust issues go hand in hand with your sense of loyalty. I find it odd that you have decided to trust my brother so very quickly.”

“Who says I trust him?”

“Like I said, your sense of loyalty is tied to your trust and your actions towards me only spell out loyalty to my dear brother.”

“Sir?” Anthea appears, still holding her blackberry in her hand. “The car is ready for Dr. Watson.”

John turns quickly, wanting to get out of this situation with Sherlock Holmes’ brother as fast as he can.

“Dr. Watson.”

“What?” John growled out, his anger spiking in irritation.

“When you do pick a side, do choose wisely. I rather not have to rid myself of another pawn.”

♜♞♝♛♚♟♟ — ♙♙♕♔♗♘♖

“Would you still like that sight seeing tour Dr. Watson?" Anthea asked when they were both seated comfortably in the car.

"No thank you. I've had enough for one day." John replied, his grip a little softer around the arm of the cane now that he was away from the man.

"Where to?"

John peers down at his cell phone, staring at another text message that the stranger had said had been supposedly sent from Sherlock.

“221B Baker Street.” John said, reading out the address.

"I do hope you know what you're getting yourself into."

John grinned at her, feeling the anger melting away. He felt happier than he has ever been since he landed in London.

"This is the most excitement I've felt in years. I'm not giving up this easily."


End file.
